Yabadabadon't
by AirborneGirl
Summary: Where JAG meets The Flintstones. Set during season five and totally out of character. Rating is for language


**Yabadabadon't .**

**AN**: Dear Lord, it's happened again. Another sordid, lame story popped into my head and demanded to be written, holding all other (useful) thoughts hostage until its release. I really hate doing this to you, oh dear and faithful readers. Tread with care as I don't want to be held accountable for your mental health…

**Rating: **K+ for language

**Spoilers**: Very alternative rewrite of Season five.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own the characters of JAG, don't own the characters of the Flintstones either and don't even wanna own the story…my evil twin does. No I don't. Yes you do. Don't. Do. Oh well…

_On with it…_

"Miss…MacKenzie? I have a delivery for you."

Sighing, I scribble something resembling an autograph on the notepad held underneath my nose before accepting the gift.

A dozen roses. How original. They go together so beautifully with the six dozen other roses already crowding my apartment.

Sounds ungrateful to you? Well, maybe it is, but it's seriously driving me nuts!

It's not just the roses you know. God, no! There are cards, perfumes, bonbons, teddy bears, jewelry of all kinds and shapes and sizes. Not real stones or anything, thank God, but still…It's like three ongoing weeks of Valentine's Day. And not from one, but from two suitors.

Now before you get jealous, let me start this fairytale. Believe me, if by the end of it, you still want to trade places, be my guest. You can have both of them!

Here's how it goes:

Once upon a time, there was am a Marine Lieutenant Colonel called Sarah MacKenzie. That's me, by the way.

As such, I was trained to be immune to emotional blackmail of any sorts. Unfortunately (in this case, very unfortunately) I'm also a woman who, in most cases, loves to be paid attention to and thought of as attractive as any other woman. And what kind of girl doesn't have a secret dream of being the object of attraction in a dual between two rivaling knights in shining armor?

I'm that kind of girl.

One of the rivaling princes comes from a land far away, which strange accents and strange animals. He's the one starting it all. Very innocently. He was certainly fancying me, having flowers delivered, or leaving them at my doorstep. So romantic, so cute. I was almost buying it.

That was until the other one got wind of it and for some miraculous reason, finally stepped up to the plate and challenged the newcomer.

Yes, the other prince in my twenty-first century version of…whatever story, is no other than the one and only Sir Harmon Rabb jr.

See, he's a strange kind of prince. Courteous? By all means. Handsome? No denial. Smart? Mostly. The prince of my choice?

Definitely.

But never before has he shown either the intention or the guts to make me his. There have been several clues in the past that he might be interested, I've been giving him some clues of my own to show that reciprocation could indeed be expected, but…nothing.

Until now.

The threat of a new alpha-male on his albeit unmarked territory finally triggered him into action. Of the wrong kind. The kind that quickly gets to be annoying. The kind that doesn't even make me wonder who's name is on the card between the roses I just received.

Two dozen soft yellow roses with a lovely fragrance and arranged by a pro. A simple, elegant envelope holding the card.

Harm.

How do I know? Because he knows I love roses, because he hasn't chosen red ones (never too outspoken), because even I have to admit he does have a sense of style…

Because it was his turn.

Sometimes I wonder if they're keeping score. They must be, because their gifts come with impeccable timing, taking turns, trying to outdo the other one.

And all I have to do is sit and wait and open the door for the next FedEx delivery.

That's what angers me the most. Not the fact that I know I must sound like a very ungrateful little bitch with nothing but luxury problems on her mind, but because that's what indeed I've become. A toy, a trophy, a prize to boast a Neanderthal's ego. Two of them with shit for brains and little concern as to how it makes me feel.

Believe me, I'm beyond being flattered. I'm pissed, annoyed and embarrassed. The entire bullpen has caught on to this game of tag and I wouldn't be surprised if office pools are running over and/or help lines have been offered to either one or both of them. The fact that I feel like a piñata being smacked around doesn't enter anyone's mind, apparently.

Meanwhile, I can't concentrate on doing my job right. Glances and whispers follow me everywhere, even right up until the court room. And if facing prince Mic in court has been more of a hassle lately, being opposing counsel to prince Harm is slow suicide, plain and simple.

The man can and does sandbag me in court one minute, and sends me flowers the next. How am I supposed to muddle my way through that mess?

If only one of them would come to the simple, yet effective idea of involving me, asking me, if only to show me that it's me they want, not just the victory. If only they would see that indeed, there is a difference.

If only Harm would realize that if he really wants me, all he has to do is stop the charade and come to me. Give me his heart instead of pretty, but useless knickknacks. If only…

But even Harm, my best friend, my partner and confidant, is obviously lost when it comes to wooing the woman behind the Marine. I never believed he would ever let himself get so caught up in this medieval rivalry, would have sworn on the bench he was smarter than that. Sad reality to find out he's not. Damn him.

What am I to do? If I ignore the situation, how much more is it gonna get out of hand? What's gonna be offered next? Romantic trips to Paris? My own yacht? The hope diamond?

Or will this turn into some kind of combat situation? An all rules waved bullfight. With me running around as some kind of Florence Nightingale to coo all over the winner and kiss his booboos, all the while thanking him for the great honor he's bestowed upon me by letting himself get beaten into a bloody pulp to prove he's the one who loves me the most?

That might sound a little too carried away even for me, but honestly, I wouldn't put it past either one of them, honestly. Not considering the way they've been behaving this past weeks. Really, if Harm could go any further back in civilization, he'd be Fred Flintstone.

I stifle a snigger at the comparison, picturing Harm dressed in fur and with Bud, Harriet and little AJ as the Rubble family…but I refuse to be his Wilma. Besides, they didn't have Marines in the stone age, did they?

As if on cue, a pounding on my door startles me. Shaking my head in a feeble attempt to erase the cartoon image of Fred Flintstone yelling "Wilma" out of my head I can't help but laugh as I hear a rather desperate "Mac!" coming from the hallway. I half expect him to add a Yabadabadoo for good measure.

As I open the door, I find prince Harm all but knocking me over since he hasn't realized the door's already open. Hastily and almost comically he drops his fist and looks at me with an endearing bewildered gaze.

"Mac, are you okay?"

"Sure, why wouldn't I be?"

"I've been pounding on that door like Fred freakin' Flintstone for minutes!"

Arghh! Stop with that Flintstone comparison already!

Without saying anything to him I leave the door open for him to follow should he chose to do so. He does. Only then do I notice he is holding something in his hand. Oh no, not again!

"I eh…got something for you."

Suddenly, my control snaps.

"No thanks, Harm. You've given me quite enough over the last few weeks, including a raging migraine!"

"Mac, it's…"

I don't wanna hear it. Three entire weeks of patience are now claiming their toll. My self restraint comes to a screeching halt.

"I said no thanks, Harm! Save your gifts, your flowers for someone who gives a damn. I'm fed up with the two of you. Why don't you just piss all over my carpet to mark your territory and get it over with!"

It's not very nice, not very attractive and not the least bit feminine, I know, but lashing out at him verbally is the only way to prevent myself from hurting him physically. I'd never ever in my life want to do that.

Poor Harm. No sound leaves his throat as he stares at me, gaping like a fish out of water. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. But true to his evasive nature, he recollects himself and holds out the item in his hands anyway. He sounds apologetic, annoyed and just a tad…what is it…hurt?

"Geez, Mac, it's only the Cardozo case-file. You asked me to review it for you, remember?"

He practically throws the file at me and I have to admit I don't even dare to look up at him as I feel the utter shame burn my cheeks. Talking about Neanderthal reactions. Hey kettle, here's pot. You're black!

Harm moves behind me to put a tentative hand on my shoulder.

"Hey Mac, it's okay. No need to feel embarrassed."

Easy for him to say. Still, I let him guide me to the sofa, with him carefully dodging several vases or mugs (I own two vases to be exact, so every other bouquet sadly ended up in a drinking utensil) and shoving other assorted pieces of romantic junk aside so we can sit. Surveying my crowded living room, he suddenly chuckles.

"Looks like we got a little carried away here, Ninja."

No shit, genius.

I don't voice these unladylike thoughts, but Harm moves on with the conversation without me.

"I guess I owe you an apology, Mac. I should have realized how uneasy this situation would make you feel. I guess I just didn't wanna let him…"

This could get interesting.

"Let him what?"

He heaves a big sigh, but gathers all his bravery and looks me straight in the eyes.

"Let him win you over."

He seems so vulnerable, but the tough Marine in me is not about to let him off the hook that easily yet.

"And you think that by showering me with gifts I would drop at his feet swooning? And that you'd better do the same and do it better? Do you really think I could be this shallow?"

He looks sufficiently put out, his handsome features set in a slightly dejected pout, shoulders slumped. Still, he puts up an excellent defense counsel for his own cause.

"I never thought of you as shallow, you know that. That's not the reason."

"Then what is the reason? You've never acted like this before, Harm. You can't blame me for being just a tad overwhelmed, not to mention very confused."

After a slight hesitation, he squares his shoulders and plunges in.

"When I saw what Mic was doing, I just realized something. I never fought for you. I fought with you, stood side by side with you, sometimes fought against you, but I never put up a fight for you. For the first time I got so scared of you actually falling for someone who wasn't afraid of showing you in abundance how he felt about you, that I had to at least measure up to him. Somehow it got out of control. But I never thought you were shallow, nor do I think you're not worth every effort, every fight every ounce of energy installed in me. I just wanted to let you know I'm willing to fight. "

It's amazing this entire monologue comes with just one breath and I'm not surprised he's practically hyperventilating once he's done. But then again, so am I.

This is as close to a declaration of love as I've ever gotten from him. Ironically enough, it would have been enough, even before, especially before he and his rival cleaned out every florist in the D.C. area. In fact, it still is.

I decide to tell him. Or rather, show him.

"Harm? I have a gift for you too."

With a gentle tug I pull his head toward mine and capture his lips. He immediately groans his consent as he pulls me closer to his solid body. In the process, we crash two vases or mugs or whatever, sending at least five dozen assorted flowers crashing to the floor, soaking my carpet. Oh, what the hell.

Yabadabadoo!

_AN: Don't say I didn't warn you!_


End file.
